Eventually time, through it's agents of wind and rain, will erase our names from where we carved them into stone with bloody hands. - Unknown

The news reporter was dressed immaculately in the latest style. Glimmering body suit, painted stripes on the face, dusted ear tips, long fake lashes.

She was also damn near frothing at the mouth.

The press and large sections of the government seemed, to Brentili'ik, to take her resignation as a personal affront. There was talk of censuring her, barring her from ever holding office again, and, in some hysterical cases, actually talking about jailing her for abandoning her duties.

The reporter was infuriated by the fact that the political analyst had, correctly, pointed out that last year's election, Brentili'ik was not even on the ballot, but instead had won via write-in with 80% of the vote.

The reporter also was screeching almost incoherently at the other political analyst who pointed out that Brentili'ik still had the rights and protections of every other citizen. That she was not property of the Telkan government, but was a citizen first and foremost. That being forced to act as the System or Planetary Director against her will was a bad thing.

When another reported pointed out that forcing Brentili'ik to perform the duties of System Director under threat of jail time until the Telkan people were done with her was no different than slavery under the Lanaktallan, the three reporters that were arguing for Brentili'ik to be jailed looked like they were going to have strokes.

Brentili'ik sighed and turned off the Tri-Vee.

She blocked another two numbers as they tried ringing directly to her implant.

She had canceled her access to the government number, had relisted her implant and gotten a new number twice.

Both times the government, within an hour, was pinging her.

Wanting her decision on this or that.

Begging her to come back.

Cajoling her to come back.

Threatening her to come back.

Three more calls in rapid succession and a slew of text and emails scrolled down her retinal link.

She pushed the heels of her paws against her eyes and gave a groaning noise.

"Are you all right?" Peel asked from the couch, where she was leaned back to nurse the baby.

"They keep calling," Brentili'ik said. She looked around. "I wish Vuxten was here."

"Give you someone to hold onto while this crashes down around you," Peel nodded. She put her thumb next to the corner of the baby's mouth and pressed, breaking the suction. The baby made sleepy noises, farted loudly, and smiled.

"Part of me is angry that he has to go to work while I have to face this," Brentili'ik said. "Even though I was the one who insisted upon it."

Peel set the baby down, pulling a blanket over the sleeping infant. She looked up, nodding. "I get it. I agree with your reasoning that the Telkan people have suffered a large enough shock," she pointed at the blank Tri-Vee. "Can you imagine how those reporters would be reacting to find out The Warfather and you had resigned. There would be panic in the streets and people waving signs that said the end is near."

"Surely not," Brentili'ik snickered.

">Voting tabulation may be almost twice as fast as ever, but the average person is as drunk and stupid as ever," Peel smiled. She looked at Synthal'la. "Will you watch the baby. I need something from my room."

Synthal'la nodded, flowing up onto the couch and cuddling up against the baby.

Brentili'ik sighed and sat silently for a minute.

More texts. More calls. More emails.

She was starting to get a headache.

Maybe if I answer just one of the high priority they'll leave me alone, she thought. She winced. No, then they'll take it as encouragement.

Peel came down the stairs, walking around the couch and sitting next to Brentili'ik. She patted her lap. "Lay your head down here," the Terran said. She unzipped a small satchel, revealing shining tools with polished white enamel handles that were inlaid with gold.

"OK," Brentili'ik said. She laid down and sighed.

More emails.

She felt Peel's strong fingers on her datalink implant casing.

Two missed calls. Both maximum priority.

"Just relax. We're not doing this in the field while we're being shelled. It's basic," Peel said softly.

More texts.

Brentili'ik managed not to wince as the case came away with a strange sticky sound as the seal was broken.

Another call.

"All right," Peel said. "Standard M404 datalink."

More texts, these forcing the autoread system. They were flooding across her datalink.

There was a loud plastic click.

The text stopped.

Another loud plastic click.

The emails stopped in mid-download.

Another two plastic clicks and a metallic snap.

The call stopped in mid-ring.

"That should do it for right now," Peel said. She gently rubbed Brentili'ik shoulder. I"I'll put the casing back on in just a minute, I want to watch the readouts."

Brentili'ik just nodded, able to close her eyes without text streaming down her vision. She just laid on the Terran female's lap, her eyes closed, breathing slowly.

No texts. No emails. No calls. No beeping to alert her that she had priority messages.

Just silence.

"OK, I'm going to put the casing on," Peel said.

Brentili'ik just nodded.

There was the weird feeling of something being twisted against her temple, then a sucking sound followed a sticky sound that she felt more than heard.

After a moment Peel patted her hip. "All right. You're fine."

"Thank you," Brentili'ik said. "I was going mad."

Peel nodded. "I get it."

"What did you do?" Brentili'ik asked.

"Set the micro dipswitches to off. I just disabled incoming data," she shrugged. "I can do more later. I'll have to download some jailbreak software, but I can set it up so that only a white-list can get through to you."

"I would like that," Brentili'ik said. Brentili'ik knew that Peel was an intelligence specialist with the Confederate military, who worked SAR, special operations, special troops, and other direct action operations. I did not startle Brentili'ik that the Terran female knew how to adjust a datalink. She leaned against Peel and sighed. "Thank you."

Peel put her arm around the smaller Telkan's shoulders.

"Anytime."

-----

It was a brisk autumn evening. The back patio lights were on, but all the guests but the Casey family had already left. It had largely been to meet and greet the officers and senior NCO's that Vuxten would be working with at TRADOC as well as the same that Casey would be working with at the Telkan Marine Corps Primary Leadership Development Course Academy.

Vuxten was drinking a fizzybrew, Brentili'ik leaning against his back, drinking a fizzybrew of his own. The podlings and broodcarriers were inside asleep. The four younger Caseys were drinking off on one side, singing drinking songs quietly. Casey the Elder was sitting next to him, staring at his beer bottle and the stars at alternating times.

It was quiet.

Peel sat down next to Casey and Vuxten smiled at her.

"Cathal," Peel said.

Vuxten immediately felt himself sober up slightly.

"Yeah?" Casey asked, looking up at the stars.

"I'm taking a maternity chapter," Peel said. "I'm getting out."

Casey blinked several times then looked at her. "Really?"

Peel nodded. "Yes," she sighed. "There's reasons."

"What?" Casey asked. "I've known you for a long time. You're a lifer. What changed your mind?"

Peel put her hand on her belly. "This."

"Are you pregnant again?" Casey asked, sounding confused.

"No. But I should be," she said. She threw one hand out to encompass the entire yard. "On all of Telkan, not counting our weird little family, there's only eleven Terrans. Only two are female," her hand went back to rubbing her belly. "Our people are almost extinct, Cathal."

"We'll figure something out, or someone will," Casey said.

Peel nodded. "I have. I've thought about it hard. Cathal, my duty is clear, whether you like it or not," she smiled suddenly. "I, personally, am fine with it."

"What duty?" Casey asked, frowning.

Peel gave a deep heaving sigh. "I can accomplish more for our people playing Twinkie instead of Toaster Strudel than you and the boys could accomplish in a hundred years wrapped in armor," she said. "Cloning banks and artificial wombs aren't working. Our people teeter on the edge of extinction."

"I'm not comfortable with you being nothing more than a brood mare," Cathal said, frowning.

"Your comfort doesn't factor into it," Peel said. She put her hand on his shoulder. "Our duty is clear, Cathal. Even the Crusade would tell us the same."

Casey drained his beer, set it on the table, and cracked open another one, staring at it and frowning. He took a deep drink and stared at Peel for a long moment.

"You're one of the best, Patricia Percy Peel," Cathal said. "I don't want you to feel..."

Peel took his hand. "Cathal," he looked at her and stopped speaking. "I've been in service over two hundred years. I've come back as a Black Cauldron zombie, shot in the head, resurrected by a necromancer, fought in the wars in the Afterlife, seen Atlantis with my own eyes," she smiled, rubbing his shoulder. "I feel like it's time I thought about myself, about you, about us, and about our people," she gave a wicked grin. "Besides, it isn't like it isn't fun."

Cathal blushed, glancing at Vuxten, who made a show of looking up at the stars.

"I won't ask you to resign," Peel said. "But as long as we're together, with the kids, I'm pretty sure I'm going to be happy," she looked up. "We can even go back to Tabula."

"I was exiled," Cathal said. He sighed. "I can barely remember what it looked like."

"Were exiled, Cathal," Peel said. "Think about it."

Casey nodded.

Vuxten felt a surge of relief as the conversation then moved on.

He noticed that when Peel was laying with her head and shoulders in Cathal's lap, he kept one hand on her belly, her hand over his.

-----

Brentili'ik knew she shouldn't be jealous of her husband.

But she was.

He worked five days a week, six at the most. Even if he worked late, he seemed to be able to make time to have dinner with the family. He rarely worked until 2200 hours, and worked longer than that even more rarely.

She kept track.

For four months, he was home by 1800, close of business occuring at 1700 hours.

She could remember working until 0100, working five, six, seven days a week, ten, fifteen, eighteen hour days.

Her husband, a Full Cluster Colonel, one of the heads of TRADOC, in charge of Telkan Marine Corps Basic Training, directly overseeing thousands of hopeful recruits, rarely worked past 1700 hours. They rarely interrupted him at home, and when they did, Brentili'ik noted that it was always something very serious or very personal. She didn't see him getting interrupted because somebody basically couldn't tie their own shoes.

She had to admit to herself, that she was jealous. Of how the Corps seemed to ensure he had time. That his underlings exercised their own initiative, authority, and decisions. Of how it all seemed relaxed and easy for him.

She asked him why and the answer made her feel slightly embarassed.

"Because nobody's shooting at me and I'm not getting casualty reports and watching them stack up because I screwed up somewhere," he said. He hugged her close. "And I have you."

That made it all better.

She found herself jealous of Peel and Casey and the Casey brothers.

Cathal Casey had tendered his resignation, citing over twelve hundred years of service, and had retired three months later.

Brentili'ik was envious of the vid-mails and emails that Peel and Cathal Casey sent her. Of a planet slowly rebuilding under the hands of the Elven Queens. Peel first round bellied, then carrying two children on her hips. Video of Peel and Cathal's wedding in an apple orchard that was in full bloom. Of the Casey brothers returning, one at a time, with brides they had found, to be married, and, eventually, with children of their own.

Even the fact that Peel was getting more than a little fat made Brentili'ik jealous in a petty way.

She was oddly jealous of Peel even when both of her broodcarriers were sleekly plump with her own podlings.

After TRADOC, Vuxten had been assigned to PERSCOM, still piloting a desk.

He was still, usually, home by 1800 or 1900 hours.

At first he went to therapy alone. Then they went together. Then they took Synthal'la and Ilmata'at with them.

The therapy appointments began to have longer and longer intervals between them.

After PERSCOM came a stint with an artillery unit as the Brigade Commander. Then with logistics at the Corps level.

Then a promotion.

Their oldest podlings began going from general education to university when her husband was made a Brigadier General of the Copper. The first Telkan general.

It was after a divisional command that Brentili'ik sat with Vuxten and helped him work through something that was bothering him.

Despite the blade and laser surgery, his left knee and hock were getting worse and worse. He needed surgery again.

It was a... less than stellar success.

She nibbled on her lower lip as she watched him start to limp.

The youngest of the podlings were in school when Brentili'ik sat Vuxten down and told him the truth.

It was time to retire.

She had been out of the public eye for over a decade. Politicians no longer invoked her name in every speech. There were even those who criticized her decisions now.

The retirement ceremony was lavish. Tri-Vee was full of specials and biographies and docudramas about Vuxten's life. She was featured prominently.

They talked, sometimes, about relocating to Tabula.

Never more than just talk.

Both had fought too hard for Telkan to give up their little world.

The podlings got older.

Synthal'la and Ilmata'at died first. Synthal'la first. Ilmata'at went within a year.

Vuxten and Brentili'ik moved to the country.

Cathal Casey came to visit, one later spring. Dressed in homespun clothing, by himself.

He stayed for a bit.

471 showed up a few days later.

The reunion was quiet but glad.

Peel, her children and grandchildren, and the younger Caseys showed up with their wives and children.

Brentili'ik was tired easily, but she was still happy to see her Terran friends.

She often dozed holding a Terran baby on her chest.

Vuxten spent time holding her hand, with Casey the Elder or Matron Casey sitting next to him.

A week or so later, one quiet spring night, Brentili'ik passed on, quietly, in her sleep.

Cathal helped Vuxten bury her in the back yard, under the peach tree. Brentili'ik and Vuxten's children and grandchildren and great grand-children were present. 471 sat on a branch on the peach tree, watching silently.

Politicians were turned away at the gate by Casey's sons, twelve of them now, as well as the Telkan Marine Corps Color Guard.

It was raining as Vuxten and Casey filled in the last of the dirt and put the sod back. 471 carried over a pebble and set it on the sod.

Vuxten expected Casey and 471 to leave.

They just cracked another beer and sat with Vuxten on the porch.

It was late in the evening, less than a year after Brentili'ik had passed. The lightning bugs were dancing in the yard and Casey was sitting with Vuxten on the front porch, sipping at his beer. He had helped Vuxten limp out to the porch. 471 was sipping a droplet of beer, watching the lightning bugs silently.

"So, the kid, right? He's almost done with his Doctorate," Casey was saying quietly, staring at the fireflies. He glanced at Vuxten.

The Telkan was asleep, lightly dozing, his ears flicking.

Casey glanced at 471.

471 just nodded slowly.

Casey took a long drink off of his beer and made the decision.

"The kid's dad suddenly gets notification. His son was hit by a drunk driver and is in the hospital," Casey said. He took another drink, watching the fireflies. "The dad, he rushes to the hospital and they tell him there's nothing they can do. His son is conscious, but it won't take long."

He took another drink, looking at Vuxten for a moment.

"The dad, he rushes into the room, trying to comfort his son," Casey said. "He cradles his son and says: Son, before you go, just one question..."

471 jumped off the rafter, fluttering down to settle on Vuxten's blanket covered knee.

"What did you want the pink golfballs for? the father asks," Casey said, his voice getting thick. "The son, right, he looks at his dad and says..."

The beer bottle slipped from Vuxten's hand and landed on the porch. Foam spilled out as the bottle rolled across the wood of the porch.

"Father mine, I wanted to golf balls, the pink golf balls," Casey said, staring at the dark.

471 leaned against Vuxten's torso.

The bottle fell off the porch and landed in the flowers Brentili'ik had planted.

"I wanted them for..." Casey paused.

He suddenly made gagging and choking noises for a moment, then stopped.

The lightning bugs still swirled.

471 straightened up and shook his head, flashing emojis of weeping.

"I'll get the shovel," Casey said, standing up.

471 settled down on Vuxten's lap as Casey walked away, reaching up and touching his datalink.

--ride or die--